


A Balance of Dragons

by CJAndre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6392434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJAndre/pseuds/CJAndre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the influence of the New Religion was blamed for Ygraine's death, magic is something quite different in Camelot. But some things remain the same: Uther is still bitter; Nimueh is still plotting; and the Great Dragon still crouches beneath the castle.</p><p>Please see the end notes for detailed trigger warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Of Dragons and Bargains

The two guards posted at the entrance to the tunnels under the castle stood straighter as the they heard the footsteps echoing down the stone stairs. If they had thought to challenge the one approaching, however, they immediately abandoned that idea when they saw the scowling woman who emerged from the stairway.  
  
Her black hair did not reflect the light from the torches, and her skin glowed a pristine white that was almost the same shade as her gown. Only the shape of her mouth marred the image of pure beauty. Her mouth was pressed in a thin red line, with no softness or give to it.  
  
The men should have challenged her. They were under strict order to challenge anyone who tried to access the deeps beneath Camelot, but since the orders came from this very lady, and she looked in no mood to answer their questions, the guards agreed with just a glance between them that it was the better choice not to speak to her at all. Instead, they opened the door and bowed as she swept by. They both pretended not to notice how the torches guttered in her wake, nor did they comment on how they each broke out in a cold sweat as they waited for this woman, their commander in all but name, to pass out of sight.  
  
It was a relief when she ignored them, continuing down the tunnel without a word, and they were able to shut the door behind her and resumed their posts.  
  
***  
  
Nimueh strode out onto the ledge of the grotto that looked out over the underground cavern and flung her words out before her.  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
There was a rush of wind before the old one appeared and settled on the rocky perch across from her.  
  
Bronze scales glinted the half light of the luminous lichen that grew here in the deeps. Glowing eyes focused on her as the dragon made himself comfortable.  
  
“Where is who?” The dragon gave her back a question as he furled his wings and snaked his massive hear towards her. He blinked as if she had just woken him from a nap.  
  
“Do not toy with me, Kilgarrah! Where is Arthur?”  
  
“Hmmm. Is he not in your- Ah, I beg your pardon- Uther’s castle awaiting his punishment for whatever slight it was that he gave at last night’s feast?” Kilgarrah flashed his teeth and curled his lip. No one would have called it a smile.  
  
“You know very well he is gone. Now tell me where, and who aided him in his attempt to escape.” Nimueh’s normally cool, pale face flushed, and her eyes narrowed as they began to glow. “We have a bargain, Dragon!”  
  
Power echoed in her words, but the great dragon delicately picked up his left foot and began cleaning his claws with his teeth.  
  
Nimueh took a half step back, eyes wide with shock.  
  
The dragon paused in his grooming and cocked his head, as if just recalling something. “Oh, yes. We did have a bargain, didn’t we? And yet I feel no obligation to you now.” He snaked his head back to look at Nimueh, and gave her another not-smile. “Have you been busy, Little Witch?”  
  
“I have done nothing to void our agreement. Neither I nor my court have harmed you or any other dragon,” Nimueh stepped up to the edge of the precipice. “Would you break a bargain with the Lady of the Isle and bring down the wrath of the Old Religion on you and all of yours, Kilgarrah? What will your kin think of you as they lay dying when I spill my cup?”  
  
“Your court, is it?” the dragon laughed, “I thought it was still Uther’s court, for at least a while yet. And how shall the tipping of your cup affect myself or my brethren. The cup of life and death is, by its very nature, a mortal thing. Dragons are of the wild magic and cannot be held in your tiny cup.”  
  
“By our bargain-“ Nimueh began holding her hands out to start a rite of balance.  
  
Drawing back and spreading his wings Kilgarrah roared to the cavern top, “THERE IS NO BARGAIN!”  
  
In the silence that followed his outburst the dragon settled himself on his rocky outcrop once more. In an almost conversational tone, he continued, “Only you, or a member of the court, would be able to say exactly why, but the bargain has been voided. Whether by you or another included in your vow, it matters not. Balance must be maintained.”  
  
Nimueh had to make an effort to draw herself up and meet Kilgarrah’s eyes. Her hands flexed as if still seeking some power that had failed to appear.  
  
“Even without the bargain I think we have an understanding. I assure you I have not harmed any dragon, and I will find the one that did and punish him.”  
  
“You have been dealing with your petty human politics for too long, Little Witch. Magical bargains do not rely on understanding, but on exacting terms, and the terms of our bargain have been broken: You or yours have killed one of my kin, and so our binding is but smoke on the wind.” The dragon raised his claws again, as if to return to grooming, but slid his eyes sideways to watch Nimueh’s growing rage. Finally he said in a casual tone, “Should you wish to bargain anew, perhaps you should call a dragon lord to attend us.”  
  
Nimueh’s jaw clenched. “If you insist,” she conceded. “But they have mostly traveled far from Albion since their skills were not needed in a land where you held a bargain with the crown. It may take some time to locate one. Until then, I bid you stay in Camelot and provide what counsel you may.”  
  
The dragon snorted. “I do not do your bidding, Little Witch. I thought we had just established that.”  
  
“Perhaps not willingly, but you will stay, Kilgarrah. I will make it so.” She flung out her right hand and light leapt from her fingers. The dragon flung himself off his perch but the light followed him, forming a loop around his right rear leg.  
  
The light solidified into a chain, heavy links that tightened around the dragon’s leg on one end, and sunk into the stone wall of the cave on the other.  
  
“You DARE?” Roared the dragon.  
  
Nimueh laughed. “I am Camelot. I do not fear you, Lizard. The other dragons will do my bidding or die, whether by the bargain, by my own hand, or by Uther’s spears, it matters little to me. And now it matters little to you, as you will be here, unable to do anything about it.”  
  
Kilgarrah roared and launched himself at Nimueh, and when the chain was too short to get to her, he bellowed out a blast fire hot enough to melt the flesh from her bones. She raised her hands and a shield sprang up in front of her. It glowed white hot under the assault of magical flame.  
  
Finally, the dragon settled back on the little rock, flame and anger both banked for the moment.  
  
Nimueh slowly lowered her arms and let the shield fade. “I will find Arthur, with or without your help. Camelot will be mine: Body, Soul, and Crown.”  
  
She turned and walked away. Kilgarrah waited for her to round the first bend in the tunnel, taking her light out of sight, before he settled again on top of his rocky perch and began to groom his claws, eyes narrowed and lips curled to show his teeth.


	2. Crying in the Countryside, Whispers in the King's Ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than three years after Arthur's disappearance, and what has Nimueh wrought?

The great hall was bright with morning sun as King Uther and Nimueh sat to hear the concerns, complaints, and requests of Camelot’s people. Nimueh relaxed back into the green and gold cushions that she had ordered placed on the throne that had once belonged to Arthur. It was smaller than Uther’s, placed to his right and slightly behind the king, but she doubted the prince would recognize it if he saw it now, after his three year absence, and certainly not if he sat in it. She did not smirk at the thought. Nimueh had total control of her expression and did not need an uncomfortable throne to keep her on her mettle and focused on her task. She was not a callow youth just learning the art of ruling.  
  
Nor was she an old man soon to enter his dotage. Nimueh’s glance slid to Uther, hunched forward in his seat, chin in hand, as he glared out at the assembled court. Sun glittered off the jewels of nobles and the swords of the knights, and glared off the white robes of her acolytes standing at the back and along the walls. For all the brilliance of the hall, however, the atmosphere was cold and tense as a knight, newly arrived from the border, stood before the king.  
  
“What news, Sir Leon?” Uther asked, sharp eyes taking in everything about the knight’s appearance. Nimueh was amused to see the king’s annoyance at the anticipation of bad news.  
  
Sir Leon was taller than average, but his usual proud visage was marred by soot, rents in his cape, and blood stains on his armour. He had the look of a man who had ridden hard for hours, but he stood without sway before his king and gave his report.  
  
“The southern and eastern border towns were hardest hit, My Liege,” reported Sir Leon. “It was a full flight of five great dragons, as well as several wyverns. They split between Wyth, Elsmere, and Bannoor to the east, then re-grouped and hit Falmouth, Tyndal, Meath, and Tyr-Na-Fail. We met them at Meath, but were not able to completely stop the attack.”  
  
The young knight kept his face relaxed, and his eyes down, but Nimueh could see the tension in his back that meant he knew the danger of bringing such news to Uther.  
  
“Culwch’s fief lies near Elsmere, does it not?” the King asked.  
  
“It did, My Lord, before it burned these three years gone.” Leon answered, so short that Nimueh thought it just skirted rudeness.  
  
Nimueh nudged at Uther’s anger, thinking to push him into punishing the knight, but his thoughts went in a different direction.  
  
“So, the ruffian I once called son has struck again. How many of his beasts did our knights kill?” Uther growled.  
  
Nimueh almost laughed. Uther’s suspicious nature meant that she did not even have to suggest attacks might be Arthur’s fault. He dreamed it up on his own. Still, she would have to find a better way to undermine Leon.  
  
Sir Leon’s jaw tightened, but he took a deep breath and said nothing about the King’s accusation against Arthur. Instead, after the brief pause, he gave his emotionaless report. “Two wyvern, My Lord, killed by Caradoc and Owain. As well as one of the great dragons injured badly enough by the knights and spear troops that the beast had to withdraw.”  
  
Uther frowned and there were whispers running through the audience. “And you did not pursue the traitorous creature?”  
  
Nimueh kept her face placid and reasonable as Sir Leon noticeably braced himself for his monarch’s displeasure. The courtiers seemed to be holding their breath, but she could see eyes flickering between the knight and King Uther, as the nobles waited to see if the king would fly into one of the rages for which he was so well known.  
  
“I gave the order to stand firm at Meath, Sire.” Sir Leon looked intent upon shouldering any blame that might fall on the knights of his troupe. “I deemed our losses severe enough that if we split our forces we ran the risk of losing Meath’s grain stores to fire. I made the judgement that saving the grain must take precedence over hunting down the dragon.”  
  
Nimueh felt a flash of irritation at the man’s level headed handling of the situation, but she was careful not to let it show on her face. Uther’s rage at Arthur’s betrayal and his supposed use of the dragons to attack sites within the kingdom these past two years should have whipped the knights into a similar frenzy - or at least a show of such in order to gain stature in their king’s eyes. Grain for peasants should not have dissuaded them from pursuing revenge for their lord’s honor and for the damage done to the kingdom. She kept her face calm as she fingered the gold amulet around her neck, and sent a sliver of anger into Uther’s mind.  
  
“And did you not judge that if you had but killed the beast you might save more grain and more lives in the future? Or perhaps follow it back to its master?” Uther hissed and spittle flew from his lips, as his face grew red.  
  
Leon dropped to one knee, and bowed his head. “I considered it, my liege, but we had lost Sir Nestor, and had six more wounded. I sought to the save the strength of your kingdom rather than waste the few healthy men in a pursuit that might have bought us nothing but more deaths. If I was in error, my lord, then I shall take whatever punishment you see fit.”  
  
Nestor. That was unfortunate, Nimueh thought. He had been loyal to her. Would that it had been young Percival, or Leon himself, with their poorly hidden loyalties to the lost prince. But no matter. Nestor would be easy to replace, and if Leon would not be killed by the dragons, perhaps she could find another death for him.  
  
“Indeed,” Uther drew a deep breath, and Nimueh felt how his mind fluttered under her restraining magic. His thoughts twisted and slipped their leash for a moment. “You have our trust, Sir Leon. It is never wise to second guess a commander in the field, no matter how disappointing the result.” Uther glanced over at Nimueh, sitting at his right hand, and she sent a tendril of her magic across his eyes. His mouth hardened. “But now, we must double patrols, and find their nests. Our priestess will provide you with possible areas in which to search.”  
  
She bowed her head and smiled. “Of course, My King.” Her voice filled with unfeigned emotion. Uther was very much her king, after all. It amused her that others interpreted what they heard as devotion, rather than the possessiveness that governed all her actions. He was her king, her puppet, to do with as she would. And she would have the dragons who had betrayed her destroyed, no matter how many knights it cost her.  
  
For now, Sir Leon rose from his knees, clearly relieved, and bowed low to Uther before taking his leave. Nimueh watched him go and considered how she might rid herself of him, or if she should wait and see if the dragons yet solved the problem for her. Really, having the beasts in rebellion was almost as good as having them under her direct control.  
  
After that there were the routine reports of harvests and tax revenues. Nimueh kept half an ear on it, figuring that anything she missed, Uther would take care of. He really was quite convenient to have around for those sorts of tasks.  
  
They were coming to the end of the petitioners when there was a disturbance at the doors to the hall.  
  
“Make way! Make way!” came the deep voice of the captain of the guard. All conversation stopped as the man pushed through the nobles and dropped to one knee before the king. Head bowed he waited to be recognized.  
  
“What is the meaning of this interruption, Captain Arliss?” Uther spoke at a volume all the court would hear, and the captain answered in the same way.  
  
“My Liege, I bring news of the capture of one of the practitioners of the new religion!”  
  
“And you interrupt the king’s petitioners for this?” Nimueh asked with an arched brow. “Let the deceived fool rot in the dungeons.”  
  
“He is not a simple follower, Milady,” the guard explained. “It’s one of the Priests! He was conducting the rites, Milady!”  
  
This was unexpected.  
  
“Take him to the lower dungeons for questioning,” Uther said. “I shall be there shortly to supervise.”  
  
“Yes, Sire,” the captain answered.  
  
“And notify the executioner.” Uther added, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. The man bowed and backed away into the crowd of courtiers. Finally, he turned and strode from the hall to carry out the king’s orders.  
  
Once the court was dismissed, Nimueh rose to take her leave and Uther pressed his palm to her arm to hold her a moment. She let him.  
  
“I assume you will have acolytes to attend the priest’s punishment.” Uther said.  
  
“Of course, My King. It will be their honor to collect what may be sacrificed to the good of the land.” She smiled. “And now if you will excuse me I will scry what I may of the dragons’ plans.” She nodded, and swept away. She left without a bow or further acknowledgment, and Uther simply smiled and went on his way.  
  
He was a simple man, Nimueh thought, happy to have a focus for his obsessive hatred and feelings of betrayal. After all, the new religion had taken his wife, hadn’t it? And then proceeded to poison his son against him. From these root evils had come the petitioning of the dragons and their following rebellion against the truce. And it was all the fault of the priests’ sweet talk of miracles and redemption.  
  
Nimueh fingered her amulet and sent a trail of misty memories that would enforce this idea for the king. Then she considered who to send to collect the Priest’s blood at the beheading. There was the new boy working in the gardens. Nimueh pursed her lips.  
  
No. He was too new to his post, too raw. He needed to steep in the majesty of Camelot’s magic a bit longer before he would be ready for execution detail.  
  
She smiled as she went to her chambers to scry. The new religion was so convenient a focus for the king, she would have had to invent it if it had not come along at just the right time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I realize we have yet to actually SEE Arthur or Merlin, but I assure you that they are coming. It's just going to take a while.


	3. Of Honor and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a glimpse of life outside the court of Camelot.

Kanen looked up as Rus and his scouting party returned to camp through the trees. There were several young men and boys stumbling to keep up with Rus’s horse, even though he kept it to a walk. Kanen surveyed them critically looking for one that seemed too fine or held himself too proud to be common.

It was over two years ago that Prince Arthur disappeared. At first there had been rewards for his safe return, but then the rumors of insurrection had started. It was just a year since the criers had read the King’s call for information leading to the capture or death of the usurper prince, but none had found the brat yet. Probably the princeling was dead, Kanen thought. It was said he was a spoiled, puling brat who could barely lift a sword. It was not likely that such a one would have survived this long on his own. However, the reward still stood, and if anyone were going to collect it, it might as well be Kanen.

Rus dropped the rope, made a gesture to Vere, one of the side guards, to keep an eye on the captives, and then dismounted. A few of the younger boys collapsed onto the bare forest floor, not caring for the early spring chill and damp. Handing the reins to Vere, Rus walked up to Kanen’s fire to report.

“Elsmere and its farms were attacked last night,” Rus stated and then gestured at the boys being loosed from the rope. “These were all turned off or left with nothing to go back to.”

“The dragons have been good for business, whatever the old king says.” Kanen smirked as he surveyed the new boys in his camp. “Well, good for my business at least.”

Rus, who was just one of the many men that answered to Kanen, snorted in something that might have been amusement. “Guess they had to bring good to someone.”

“No likely lasses, then?” Kanen asked, looking the boys over.

Rus shook his head. “There’s a new red house in Camelot lower town, according to the villagers. Several girls were sold there before the attack to pay for taxes.”

“Too bad, I could do with something fresh and soft to lie with at night. Could make use of the boys I suppose…” 

“Never quite the same, though, is it?” Rus commiserated. “Especially as scrawny as this lot is. There’s no cushion to them.”

Kanen barked out a laugh, remembering how three years ago Rus had come stumbling out of the woods, black faced, brown hair singed off on one side, with a burn on his arm, and a story about a dragon attacking his father’s holding. He’d escaped with his life, his horse, and his crossbow. That was more than most managed, making Kanen wonder just how quickly he’d run. The horse was small, but a courser in its prime, especially fine for a younger son of a minor baron. Kanen thought it odd, until he tried to lay hands on it. The beast had a foul temper and a wicked kick. No one but Rus could ride him. Most likely it had been meant to be destrier for the eldest son, but had been both too puny and too unruly to send to war.

Rus himself had been just into his full growth, but knew his way with both sword and bow. He wouldn’t be alive now if he hadn’t, since Kanen wasn’t one to carry dead weight. Rus had proven himself that day as a fighter, taking on Eric, Kanen’s right hand man, and pulling out a victory by pinning the giant after clocking him in the head with the pommel of his dagger.

The cache of weapons he’d led them to back at the burned out manor he’d come from had also helped secure his place. Of course Rus had wanted to bury his dead, and Kanen had let him, after securing the armory. Kanen grinned and gripped the sword he’d worn since that day. It had been the beginning of greater things for him and his bandits. It was the arrival of Rus that had given Kanen the idea to set up here, just inside Camelot’s borders; Rus, and the others who had come fleeing from dragon attacks. The camp had a lot of advantages for a man looking to build up his crew of mercenaries: the trees were thick, so the dragons couldn’t easily find them from above, the river was nearby for water, and there were caves in the mountainside to retreat to if necessary.

Best of all, the camp overlooked the road out of Camelot into Mercia. That made it an easy ride into Mercia whenever they needed supplies, and no one pursued them back across Camelot’s border for fear of attracting old Uther’s wrath, or worse, notice from the Lady Nimueh. The road also took refugees out of Camelot, and that meant that every time there was a dragon attack in the area, Kanen had his pick of the refugees - either for their belongings, or as recruits. What had been a band of ten or twelve men, depending on the day and Kanen’s temper, had grown to nearly thirty. Instead of only Kanen and Eric, who’d been with him longest, being horsed, they now had a string of ten horses. 

And today he would add a few more likely lads to his troop.

He looked at the newest lot of boys to be found in his woods and tried not to smirk. The seven of them stood scattered about the clearing in ones and twos not looking at each other, and definitely not looking at Kanen, except for when they thought he was looking away. Not a horse or sword among them, but that was to be expected. They wore rough, homespun wool tunics and trou. A couple of the less hungry looking boys had actual boots, the rest had the leather wrap shoes that wouldn’t last a season on the road. Most everything had been patched and re-patched. The ones wearing clothes without patches had mostly holes. It was a good measure of who had left their farms and who had been driven off. One too many mouths to feed on land burnt out by dragons, and then picked over by the soldiers and mages that drove the dragons off, meant that families had to make hard choices. 

“What do you think?” Kanen asked without looking at Rus.

The smart boys had put a tree to their backs and were watching Kanen’s men. They stood up straight and tried to look strong enough to keep up with the horses. They knew the score. The foolish ones cowered and wrung their hands and tried not to be noticed. Two had come with bows and well made arrows, which were now sitting with the rest of Kanen’s takings, waiting to be divvied up.

“Four likely looking lads, the rest are small fry. Need to be thrown back, I’d say.” Rus sounded bored, but Kanen knew better. Rus handled all the training and was very picky about recruits.

“Don’t think the little ones deserve a fair shake at it?” Kanen prodded Rus with his elbow and grinned.

“Waste of time and energy,” he snorted. “Especially when I know how it will turn out.”

Kanen narrowed his eyes. “And if I say I feel like a bit of entertainment?”

Rus shrugged. “Let me know when your done and I can take them off to the caves. And if any of them get run through, then you can damn well carry them to the caves yourself. I’ve no wish get all over blood just because you’re getting bored, Kanen.”

Kanen caught Rus by the shoulder and pulled him in close. “If I say you’ll be the one hauling them to the caves, then that’s what you’ll do.”

He liked that Rus blanched a bit when confronted. He liked it more when Rus was the first to look away. Letting his eyes slide down and to the side. 

“Fine,” the younger man kept his voice flat. There was no fear in it, but there was no defiance either. “Do you want me to take them now or later?”

Kanen let him go. 

“Take them now. Take them all, and make sure that the likely boys understand that it could be them if they don’t measure up.”

“Aye,” Rus gave a nod and then turned towards the fires and called, “Vere, Aedlin, with me!” Kanen turned back to his fire and his evening meal of venison which he’d put aside when Rus had returned from patrol with the group of boys. The older boys would bring their numbers up, and Rus would take care of those too weak to train. If they’d been a little older, he might indeed have made them fight for their places in the group, but as Rus said, the outcome was obvious, and Kanen was hungry. Slitting the throats of the weakest would work just as well to serve as warning to the new recruits. The caves weren’t just a good place to hide, they were a fine place to dump an inconvenient body if it came to it.

“They’re too young to be of any use, Kanen.” Eric said as he joined his leader by the central fire. “I don’t know why you keep taking them in. They’re not fit for anything but gleaning fields and hanging on their mother’s apron strings.” Kanen raised an eyebrow as Eric joined him. The man had been with him a long time, and thought of himself as his second in command. It kept Rus from getting above himself, so Kanen allowed it. That didn’t mean he actually listened to either of the two men.

“With these four, we’ll have our numbers up to a company. That puts us in position for the kind of jobs that pay some real money, not just robbing the peasants of their grain and hunting the King’s deer.” Kanen pulled out his knife and hacked off a pice of meat from the haunch of venison.

“They ain’t trained.” Eric pointed out. Again. Kanen had heard this all before.

“We only need the head count. And they’ll be getting training.”

“Oh, aye,” Eric snorted. “They’ll be getting training. But not from you. What makes you think they’ll ever listen to to you over Rus, if it comes down to it.”

Kanen whipped out his left hand and grabbed Eric by his tunic. He yanked the man down until his face was almost in the fire, and held him there with the point of his knife digging into Eric’s cheek just below his eye.

“Rus listens to me because he knows that if he doesn’t, I’ll kill him,“ Kanen hissed. “And the baggage will listen as well, or I’ll kill each of them. Are you going to listen, Eric?”

Around them, at the five other fires and all through the camp, the men became quiet.

“Aye, of course, Kanen, I was just,” Eric swallowed and tried pull away from the knife. “Just trying to look out for your interests.”

Kanen snorted and shoved Eric back, away from the fire. “I look after my own interests. You just follow orders.”

“Fine,” came the response. “Just remember it were me that tried to warn you-“ Kanen jerked him a little closer to the fire and let his dagger draw a drop of blood. Eric stopped talking.

Kanen held on a moment longer, waiting for Eric’s muscles to loosen in the subtle sign of submission that would prove the point had been made. Eric was man that would say anything, but he didn’t know how to lie with face or body. His defiance was written all over him, until suddenly it wasn’t, and Kanen pushed him away to flop on the ground. Looking around the camp, Kanen made a decision. He gestured to Eric, and said, “Get the fires out and buried. Divvy up the take from the haul Rus brought in and get the camp packed up.” Kanen raised his voice so the camp would hear, “We’ve been sat here too long without any entertainment. Time to go find ourselves some comfort. I’m as tired of your ugly faces as you are of each other. As soon as Rus gets back with the new recruits, we’re going to head out and find ourselves some company. If we ride tonight, we can be over the border and in Mercia by daybreak.” 

The answering cheer was ragged and had a vicious edge to it. The men got to packing quickly, with more than a few discussing the kinds of company they should look for and what they’d like to do with whoever they found.


	4. A Busy Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin sees his first beheading and meets Gwen and Morgana when he delivers Morgana's medicine.
> 
> Please see the end of the chapter for a possible trigger warning.

Merlin woke up early to the sounds of Gaius shifting boxes and grinding something in a pestle. Having fallen asleep while studying (again), Merlin got up groggily and grabbed his brais and trou, pulling them up under his shift, and then stuffing his stockinged feet into his boots. He stumbled against his door and out into the main room.

“Gaius?”

The old man looked up, brushing his long gray hair out of his face, and paused his repetitive motions. The smell of aniseed filled the room.

“Did I wake you?” Gaius asked. “I forget that I can no longer putter around my workroom at all hours with impunity.” 

“S’all right,” Merlin squeezed out as he yawned. “But what’s going on?”

“There’s to be an execution today at noon,” Gaius informed him in heavy tones.

“What? An execution? What for?” Merlin asked, feeling suddenly more awake. “Who for?”

”Uther’s guards raided a secret church yesterday. Most of the brethren escaped - it was in a cave, and there were many exits. No doubt one reason it was chosen as a site for their worship. The guards did manage to capture the priest, however, and there will be no mercy for one such as he, as I’m sure you know.” Gaius went back to grinding, his hair falling back over his face like a curtain. “You can help me here this morning. The regular duty assignments won’t start until after the events in the courtyard are done.”

Merlin knew, as Gaius said, that the King had nothing but hatred for the new religion, and he knew that beheading was the price people paid for following its perverse practices, but knowing that and preparing to see it happen were two different things entirely.

“I suppose it will do the people good to see the king’s law being fulfilled after the news from the borders yesterday.” Merlin said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. Of course it was true. It just didn’t feel-

“Hand me that flask, Merlin.” Gaius said.

Merlin blinked, and went to the shelves on the far wall that Gaius had pointed to. “This one?” he asked, holding up a costly purple venetian glass bottle.

“Yes, yes, that’s it.” Gaius waved his left hand while stirring with his right. “Hand it here.”

Merlin passed it to him and looked over his shoulder at the tincture.

“So, are you making a draft to ease the priest’s passing?” Merlin guessed, a little surprised that such a thing would be allowed. 

“No, no,” Gaius said, still working. “This will be for the Princess. The executions always bring on her nightmares.”

“Are they just nightmares, or are they visions?” Merlin asked, as he grabbed a small brass pot and placed it on the table beside Gaius. “If they come with such regularity, perhaps she should be consulting the oracles rather than taking potions to suppress them.” He picked up the cheese cloth and held it over the pot as Gaius began to gently pour in the tincture in, careful not to waste any of the painstakingly prepared liquid while straining out the leaves and twigs that remained of the herbs.

“Lady Nimueh has already declared the dreams to be common nightmares, Merlin, and we are to treat them as such,” the old man eyed his apprentice and frowned in disapproval as he handed over the ground aniseed to join the rest in the of the ingredients in the pot. “Do not make the mistake of implying anything else. The King trusts the Lady’s judgement implicitly and I assure you that the Lady Nimueh will not welcome any advice from an acolyte on how to treat Camelot’s heir and the temple’s protégé.”

Merlin blinked.

“Of course, Gaius,” he said, and noticed that the fire seemed to be smoking up the room a bit. “Shall I tend the fire?”

Gaius permitted the change of topic with a nod, and what could have been a look of relief, but Merlin ignored it. The smoke was filling his eyes. He must have put green wood in the pile he had brought up last night. Best fix that. By the time the fire was built up and burning properly, the bells started ringing.

“Come on,” Gaius clapped him on the shoulder. “We need to attend.”

The courtyard was full of people: guards, tradesmen from the lower town, women from the market, yoemen in town for one thing or another, peasants from some of the nearer farms, and of course the acolytes in their white robes. Merlin shuffled a bit to try and find a comfortable place to stand in the crush. He probably would have had more room if he had worn his robes as the others had, but it hadn’t occurred to him. There was hardly room to breathe pushed around along with the townspeople. 

The crowd fell silent as the king stepped out on the balcony. He stood broad and strong with a golden crown and sad eyes. Merlin had seen him before, of course. All acolytes were presented to the king before being admitted to the temple, but there was something different about him standing there above his people looking at them like a father overseeing his children.

Lady Nimueh stood at his right shoulder, just a few steps behind, and Princess Morgana stood at his left. Both women looked serious and terrible in their beauty. Morgana looked especially severe with dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t been slee-

Merlin jerked his eyes back as King Uther began to address the crowd.

“People of Camelot, today we strike a blow against an insidious enemy. In my years as ruler of Camelot, I have worked to eradicate the threat of the New Religion that would sunder us, my people, from the rhythms and balance of the True Way.” He gestured to his left. “With the Lady Nimueh, and the support of the temple, we have slowly but surely managed to bring this plague of the spirit under control. But still there are those who would sully our faith and spread lies of some great savior in the sky who is stronger than the gods and goddesses who have held us in their hands since the beginning of times. Today, we cut off yet another head of this pernicious hydra.”

At this point, the gate to the dungeons opened, and the guards dragged out the man that Merlin supposed must be the captured priest. His clothes were filthy and caked with both mud and blood, and his face bore bruises that looked quite recent. The guards dragged him onto the platform in the center of the courtyard, and forced him to his knees before a solid block of wood. It was the chopping block, Merlin realized.

The king pointed at the priest. “You have been accused of leading the good folk of Camelot astray, and performing perverse rituals in the caves above the town. It is said that you preach that all are equal, and that belief in your god grants your followers everlasting life - clearly lies. You were captured in the midst of performing one of these rituals, and your implements were found with you. Do you deny any of this?”

The man looked up, although Merlin was not at all certain he could actually see the king with his eyes swollen as they were. “The cock has long since crowed in Camelot. I will not deny my Lord God, nor my savior, Jesus Christ.” The priest’s words were quiet but they carried across the silent courtyard.

King Uther raised his hand high. “Then I have no choice but to sentence you to death for the crime of following the New Religion and proselytizing to others of similar weak mind. May your blood feed the fields for a bountiful harvest.” 

The priest struggled against the guards and shouted up at Uther as they wrestled him down onto the block, “Like the Hydra, whose cut off head is replaced by two more, so shall others spring up to take my place! You cannot murder faith, Uther!”

The King’s hand dropped as soon as the priest was in place, and there was a loud thunk, and a strange squelching sound that reminded Merlin of butchering a pig at midwinter. It probably looked as horrifying as it sounded, but Merlin kept his eyes shut so that he would not see.

It was over. Merlin didn’t want to watch the acolytes drain the priest’s blood into a stone basin brought just for that purpose. He was glad indeed that he had not been drafted to help. 

After going back to Gaius’s chambers and quickly donning his white robes over his clothes, Merlin was ready to head out to his assignment. He grabbed a bit of bread and cheese as he went, knowing that he would feel weak and hungry in a few hours if he didn’t. “I’m off to the kitchen gardens, Gaius, is there anything you need me to bring up when I come back this evening?”

“Check on the sweet basil and see if there’s enough to pull for drying, otherwise I think my stock is well enough, and take this to Guinevere, Lady Morgana’s maid, on your way to the garden. You know her, don’t you?” Gaius asked, as he held out the small purple flask full of the tincture they had worked on this morning.

“Of course.” Merlin had seen the girl around the castle, though he had never spoken to her directly.

“Good. Tell her three spoonfuls in a cup of wine.“

“Three spoonfuls in a cup of wine. Got it.” Merlin confirmed as he took the flask. 

“Excellent. Now go, before you are late and the potatoes rot without your presence.”

Merlin snorted. It was true that the kitchen garden wasn’t a life or death assignment, nor any great magic, but Merlin figured he should be glad he qualified for a position in Camelot’s temple at all. Even if he wasn’t much of a sorcerer, he still wanted to improve. If he was ever going to get better at magic, this was the place to do it. He walked quickly down the hall, perhaps slightly enjoying the deference shown him by the regular servants now that he was wearing his white robes. It was still something of a novelty to be valued as more than just manual labor for a farm or another set of hands for kitchen chores. He stopped when he came to an ornate door that led to the set of rooms belonging to the lady Morgana and knocked softly.

The door opened a crack and a dark complexioned girl peered out at him. Her face was pretty, but her eyes were sad and wary. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Gwen, isn’t it?” Merlin asked.

“Yes,” the girl frown at him - whether because she was trying to place his face, or because she was wondering how he knew her name, Merlin wasn’t sure. In any case, he put on his brightest smile and pulled out the flask Gaius had given him.

“I’m Merlin. Gaius sent me with this potion for Princess Morgana. He bid me tell you that she’s to take it as three spoonfuls in a cup of wine.”

“We did not send for medicine,” Gwen said.

“Oh.” Merlin wasn’t sure what to do with that. He didn’t think Gaius would be happy with him if he failed to deliver the flask as promised, but perhaps they would only take medicines directly from the King’s healer.

From back in the chambers came another voice. “Oh, let the boy in, Gwen. You know Gaius always makes a draft for me on the days of an execution.”

“Of course, My Lady.” Gwen stepped back from the door and let Merlin in. She was wearing a beautiful yellow gown, far better than most of the servant girls in the castle would ever have the chance to wear. Perhaps Gwen was allowed to wear the princess’s cast-offs? Merlin wondered if that were the sort of privilege that made Gwen jealous of her position. Merlin straightened and walked in. There was no need for him to hide or be shy. As an acolyte of the Old Religion he had no reason to be concerned about the opinions of a servant girl.

The rooms were sumptuous, as was to be expected for the heir of Camelot. There were rich rugs from the East softening the stone floors, and tapestries on the walls to stop the drafts. The furniture was ornately carved and included not just a bed, cupboard, and a wash stand, such as the acolytes were given, but also a vanity with a highly polished bronze mirror, and four chairs with high backs and cushions.

The Princess was sitting by her window in one of the chairs; it overlooked the courtyard and the chopping block. Merlin hid a little shiver. He would not want to overlook such a place, especially if he knew it gave him nightmares. But the Princess Morgana was known for her strength of character. Perhaps she had decided she needed to face her fears. Certainly it required great strength and fortitude, judging by the dark circles under eyes that told of sleepless nights. Which would imply that her nightmares had come before the beheading, rather than after. 

The glare of the light from the window caught Merlin full in the face as he stepped forward and he blinked away tears for a moment. When his vision cleared, he saw Gwen had gone to stand by her mistress, one hand protectively on her shoulder, while the Princess was studying him with some interest in her eyes.

That was when he realized he was standing there like a fool with his hand half outstretched, holding out the flask. He quickly inserted a small bow and presented it more formally.

“My lady, I believe this is your usual potion, but if you have any questions about it or about the dosage I would be happy to fetch Gaius to put your mind at rest.” 

“That’s quite all right,” she waved a hand as if to dismiss any need for confirmation from a higher authority. “I was expecting the medicine, and I am sure Gaius would not entrust it to just anyone. Gwen would you take it and put it by my bed, please?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The serving girl’s expression was far more pleasant now that he had her lady’s seal of approval, but Merlin thought he could still detect a flintiness to her eyes, though he was sure he had done nothing to deserve it in the few minutes time he had known her. What could he have done in the time it took to knock on a door and walk in a room? Well, to be fair, some acolytes could do quite a bit in that time. But Merlin was not of that calibre, and certainly had nothing like that intention.

“Then I shall take my leave of you, Highness.” He bowed as he had been taught by the older acolytes when he’d first come to Camelot and been presented to the King and Lady Nimueh.

“Merlin, was it?” the Princess asked, interrupting him as he straightened to leave.

“Yes, Milady,” he said.

“I do not believe I have seen you in the castle before, Merlin. Are you newly come to Camelot?”

“I have been here one month, Your Highness.” He blinked and wondered whether he had done something wrong. A quick glance at Gwen gave him no clues. Her look remained sharp, but not openly hostile.

“And you came here from…?” Princess Morgana prompted him with a slight smile.

“Um,” Merlin shook his head, the glare of the sun was giving him a headache, but he should not keep the princess waiting. “I came from… Ealdor.”

“Ah, how unusual. Ealdor is not part of Camelot, is it? How did you find your way here?”

“I was…” Merlin tried to blink the sun out of his eyes. “I wanted to learn and improve my magic, and Camelot is the best place for that. So I came here.”

Thankfully, a cloud moved in front of the sun and gave his aching eyes some relief. He turned his attention back to the princess.

The princess’s smile was kind, and she didn’t seem upset by his inability to focus. “It must be hard to leave everything you know behind and come to a new city.”

“Well, nothing compares to Camelot,” Merlin answered quickly, knowing he needed to be appropriately grateful for the opportunity to study in the White City. “I write my mother that all the time in my letters. How wonderful it is here, and how happy I am to be learning.”

The Princess leaned forward and tilted her head. It reminded Merlin of an inquisitive bird. “Your Mother? You are still in contact with her?”

“O- Of course. She’s my mother.” Merlin squinted, hoping this headache wasn’t going to last the whole day as they sometimes did.

“But there is no courier service between Camelot and Cendred’s kingdom, and very little trade with such a small town as Ealdor. How do you get your letters to her?”

Princess Morgana’s tone was light and casual, but Merlin felt suddenly nervous. How did he send his letters? He just… Merlin rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I’m sorry, Milady? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Who delivers your letters to your mother, Merlin?” There was steel in her tone now. This was… a problem. Gaius would be upset if he got in trouble with the princess, but the letters- they just-

“No one delivers them… they just… go.” The clouds parted outside and a bright shaft of light seemed to stab through the middle of his head.

“Gwen, get him a cup of water.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Merlin realized his eyes were closed. No, more than that, his palms were pressed against them. And he was standing before one of the royal family of Camelot. Looking like a complete clotpole.

_Bugger._

“Merlin?” A gentle hand cupped his elbow. “Have a drink. Do you need to sit down?”

Gwen. It was Gwen speaking to him, though she sounded decidedly less standoffish than she had just moments ago. He lowered his hands and blinked to find her standing in front of him with a kind smile on her face and a cup of water in her free hand.

“Thank you.” He said, taking the cup and drinking.

“You’re welcome,” Gwen said and returned to her mistress’s side, she picked up a warm cloak hung over the screen on the other side of the princess’s chair and tucking it around Morgana’s shoulders. The Princess looked even more pale now than she had when he’d first entered the room.

“I’m sorry, my lady. It’s just a bit of a headache. I tend to get them when the sun is so bright.” He blinked several times and felt much better as he handed the cup back to Gwen.

Morgana nodded placidly, although Merlin thought he saw her glance out the window where the day seemed cloudy and and the sun was hidden away, making Merlin’s excuse for his near faint appear little more than ridiculous. He blushed slightly, but it wasn’t as if it were in his control, where the clouds went.

“Indeed. It has been a fatiguing morning for all. I think I will sleep for a time, Gwen. Please prepare Gaius’s potion for me.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” The girl walked back to the bed to fetch the flask she had set there and took it to the table that dominated the opposite side of the room.

Princess Morgana smiled at Merlin. “Thank you again for bringing the flask, Merlin. I am sure it will bring me great relief. You must take care of yourself as well. You may be coming down with something, judging by that headache.” 

Merlin blushed. “I apologize, Milady, for inconveniencing you-“

“Not at all. There are days when the demands of living in Camelot catch up with all of us.” She studied him for a moment, and Merlin tried hard not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. He was sure he had not succeed when she asked, “Will you go to your duties today, or do you need to rest?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’ll just be off to duties. Those turnips won’t grow themselves!” He smiled brightly.

“Turnips?” Gwen asked, coming towards them with a cup of wine, presumably mixed with the medicine.

“Well, it’s a little joke Gaius and I have between us. My duty is in the kitchen garden.” Neither woman smiled. In fact, Gwen seemed to be frowning even harder. “You know,” Merlin tried again, “Kitchen garden. Turnips growing.” He made illustrative sprouty motions with his hands.

Still nothing.

“Ah, well, I’ll just be going then,” he said, thinking he had dug himself quite a deep enough hole, really, and it was time to quit while ahead.

“Well, if you are sure, Acolyte Merlin, then we shall not keep you.” The princess nodded her dismissal and waved to her maid. “See him out, Gwen.”

Merlin bowed again, managing to finish it this time and take the appropriate three steps back before turning to leave.

Gwen walked to the door with him, and smiled as she opened it to let him out. “Take care of yourself,” she said, “you know, in the garden. Not that the garden is particularly dangerous, of course, just, you know, in general. Take care.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks!” Merlin grinned, surprised to get an answering smile from the girl who had glared at him like he was an enemy invader just a few minutes before. Well, maybe she just took a bit of time to get used to a person. Whistling, he headed down the corridor to the back stairs. From there it was a short jog out to the kitchen garden. Merlin nodded to Aelfred, one of the kitchen boys, on his way out. As usual the boy said nothing, but simply stared. He was a bit of an odd duck.

The sunlight in the garden dazzled Merlin and he forgot everything except his duty. He strode the the center of the garden, to the marble basin whose bottom drained into the soil of the garden, and started to recite his charms. It was so quiet and peaceful. The bees buzzed, the birds sang, and the flies hummed in his ears as he picked up the the stone knife that sat next to the basin and slashed his arm open.

Merlin smiled as he watched his blood drip down, down, down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a scene in which a character slices open his arm as part of a magical ritual. This is not due to depression or despair, but if you think it might trigger you, simply skip the last two paragraphs of the chapter. From a plot perspective you just need to know that there is blood sacrifice.


	5. Plots and Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Gwen and the darker side of the White City.

Gwen shut the door quietly after the young alcolyte, listened carefully for the latch, and hung a string of silver bells from the door handle before moving back into the room. Her lady was still seated at the window, slouched a bit in her chair and running her fingers over the fur of her cloak. It was summer and the air was warm, but Gwen knew that her Lady Morgana felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. 

“Will you come to bed now, Milady?” 

“Yes, thank you Gwen,” she stood and wrapped the cloak more closely around her body before turning and walking to her bed. “Sit with me a while?” 

“Of course, Milady,” Gwen quickly fluffed the pillows on the bed as Morgana lay back, tucking her mistress’s feet up under the hem of her cloak. She untied the bed curtains and pulled them around the bed, the gauzy white curtains first and then the heavy brocade drapes, so that it was dim and close all around them. 

Then Morgana spoke, “Choinneáil ar ár rúin,” and the glow of her eyes shone bright and sharp in the gloom of the curtained off bed. 

“Well, that was a surprise, wasn’t it?” Morgana said, matter-of-factly. She sat up straighter and tucked her feet criss-cross beneath her thighs in a most unladylike posture. 

“Do you think he’s really in contact with his mother?” Gwen whispered, even though she knew that the spell on the curtains would keep any noise from escaping. “Perhaps it is just a seeming that the enchantments have given him to quiet his mind?” 

“Perhaps,” Morgana said in her normal voice, “but then why would he have gotten that headache? That was a sign of a powerful weight being brought to bear against his will. It wasn’t sunny in the room at all, and yet he seemed to be blinking in a terrible glare. Certainly, I have never observed her putting such a seeming on any of her other catches. And those who truly serve her willingly, well, it would hardly be necessary since they think of little but themselves.” 

“Then could it be a sign that she is weakening?,” Gwen’s hands gripped each other a little tighter. “Have our prayers been heard?” 

Morgana looked away from her friend’s hopeful face, and shook her head. “I wish I could believe that, Gwen, but if anything I have felt her growing stronger these last weeks. It is strange; she sits in council and says little, but Uther claims to find her indispensable. Her mists flow through the castle and twine about the town. I hardly trust myself anymore,” Morgana shuddered and stared at something Gwen could not see. “I sense no weakness in her, and though I know you and the brothers are strong in your resolve, I do not think prayer alone will break her hold on Camelot.” 

“Milady,” Gwen reached over and gripped her hand, “there is nothing that prayer can’t do when it is backed by strong hearts and loyal hands.” 

Morgana shifted her eyes so that Gwen was sure she was truly seen now, and they squeezed each other’s hands. “I do not understand your faith, Gwen, but of your heart and hands I have never had any doubt.” 

“So what shall we do?” Gwen asked, not in the tone of a girl lost in palace intrigue, but in the tone of a general awaiting orders from her liege. 

“Well, if she is not weakening, and as I said I have felt no sign of it, then it must be that this boy, Merlin, is in fact strong enough to resist her, and that… that may be something we can use.” 

“He did say he was working in the kitchen garden.” Gwen reminded her. 

“The garden, yes.” Morgana’s eyes went dark with pain. “I did not know she had replaced Aelfred. That Merlin is resisting at all makes me suspect he is even more powerful than Aelfred was.” 

“Aelfred has never been the same since the garden. This Merlin may be resisting, but he hasn’t been able to free himself, “ Gwen reminded her. 

“Then we must find a way to help him along,” Morgana said and then lay back on her pillows. “I will see if I can find out how.” 

“I will stay with you.” Gwen stated, and settled herself so that she could easily watch both her mistress’s face and the slight gap in the curtains that faced the door to the chambers. 

Morgana narrowed her eyes at her maidservant. “Do not wake me. I must see it all.” 

Gwen bowed her head. “I will not wake you, but I will be here when you do.” 

Morgana dropped her regal manner and sighed. “Thank you, my dear.” Then she closed her eyes, and in moments dropped into the not-sleep that stole so much of her rest. Gwen watched for a moment before going to dispose of the potion Gaius had sent, dumping it down the garderobe. Then she returned to her mistress and watched Morgana’s eyes flicker and move like mad things beneath her closed eyelids. 

“May the shepherd protect you, Lady,” she whispered and settled her back against a bed post to wait. __

_The fields were covered in grain ready for harvest, and the last gasp of summer had the air thick with heat and moisture. As Morgana turned around and around, trying to puzzle out where she was, she had to laugh delightedly at all she saw: trees heavy with fruit, boys herding fat cows, and girls laughing and groaning under the weight of the milk pails. It was lovely! And there, on a far away hill, she finally saw the spires of the white city. Camelot._

 _

“Come, my dear. Walk with me,” Morgana looked back and where there had been no one before, there now stood her mentor, Lady Nimueh. 

“Of course,” she said, and smiled as she took the hand of her friend and teacher. “I was lost for a moment, I’m not sure how I got here. The king will be upset if we are late for the feast.” 

Nimueh laughed. “The king is the feast, a few more minutes, more or less will make no difference to him.” 

“What?” Morgana asked, confused. Nimueh pointed down the hill to a table laid out in the middle of a field of wheat. “See there, the boy is making him ready for us!” On the table lay a man. It was not Uther. This man was much younger, but he did wear a crown. Standing over him was a young man in acolyte’s robes ladling some kind of sauce over the king. The acolyte had black hair and pale skin, and Morgana thought she should know him. 

“Come on,” Lady Nimueh had somehow moved ahead of Morgana and beckoned her from far down the hill. “Hurry up! I’m starving!” 

Nimueh skipped ahead of her, looking as she ever did, ever young. ‘She looks that same age as me,’ Morgana thought, as she followed down the hill. ‘Even though Nimueh was Ygraine’s friend when I was a child, we look like sisters now.’ She wondered that she had never seen it before. 

The footing was treacherous, the grass slick and black as if it had been sitting under a rock without any sun for several days, and it smelled of copper. 

That was odd. 

Morgana paused and looked ahead to Nimueh, who was much further down the hill now. She wanted to call her attention to this odd malady of the grass. That was when she noticed the that the blackness was trailing her mentor, puddling out from her feet, from her every step. 

And Morgana was following in those footsteps. 

Nimueh was at the table now, pushing aside the boy in the robes stained red with the sauce. His leg was chained to the table, causing him to fall as Nimueh shoved past him. His head whipped around on a neck suddenly long and he hissed as she went by, sharp teeth bared as his face seemed to pull and elongate out of its human shape, but when he lunged the chain held him back, and he just missed catching Nimueh’s leg. 

Morgana opened her mouth to call out, but there was no sound. She couldn’t hear her foot steps, she couldn’t hear the birds or the people who only moments before had been working the fields. But when Nimueh pulled out her belt knife and cut off a hunk of flesh from the king’s chest there was a scream, not from the king, but from the boy-monster on the ground, and the sound swallowed the land, even as Nimueh swallowed the flesh of King…Arthur.

_

Morgana woke up screaming. 

“Milady! Your Highness, what is it?” Gwen’s voice. Gwen’s hands. She was in her bedroom, not in some field, but Morgana couldn’t slow her breathing, or get rid of the coppery smell. 

“Gwen, we cannot wait. Something terrible is going to happen if we wait.” 

“I understand, Milady, but what action is it that we must take?” 

Morgana tried to think of the dream without panicking, considering the images without giving way to the fear they had inspired. The boy. Now that she was out of the dream and looking back on it, she was sure that was Merlin. What had happened to his face? He had truly been a monster at the end of the vision. And Arthur. He had been the king on the table, not Uther. The only way for Arthur to become king would be through Uther’s death, but that would mean that Nimueh must be closing in on the culmination of all her plans. Up until now, Uther had been far to valuable a puppet for Nimueh to kill him. 

“The acolyte, Merlin, is important. He is key to her plan. Somehow he is connected to… to Arthur.” She whispered the name, even here behind her own wards. “I think she is turning Merlin into some kind of monster, or he is something other that she is hiding in a human skin. In my vision, Arthur was king of Camelot, and Merlin was preparing him somehow. Perhaps that means that Merlin is to prepare the way and kill Uther for Arther? I don’t know, but we must awaken Merlin without arousing his monstrous nature and convince him to leave Camelot.” 

“Could he be a demon?” Gwen asked, her eyes large. 

Morgana thought of the long neck and the teeth in her dream and shuddered. But he had snapped at Nimueh, and reacted not at all to Morgana. “Whatever he is, the dreaming indicated that we could turn him to our side. He was bound by Nimueh in the dream, as he is in life, but he clearly did not want to be in her power. Whatever he is, she needs him for her plans. She needs him to get to Arthur. If we can free him, then we will be that much closer to defeating her.” 

“Perhaps if we could take him beyond the walls,” Gwen suggested. “I know one who would be willing to attempt it, but I hesitate to let loose a monster on the countryside. The dragons are enough.” 

“No.” Morgana said thinking of the sharp teeth and long jaw that she had seen distort Merlin’s face in the dream. “I think kidnapping him, even for the best of reasons, would turn him against us and we would have a monster in truth. No, he must be made to see the reality of his captivity and make his own choice to escape it.” 

“How shall we show him anything when the mists still cloud his vision?” 

The mists. The mists were everywhere, and while her magic could push them away for a time, she was already stretched to her limits keeping them off herself. If Gwen ever came to Nimueh’s attention as something more than a simple servant, Morgana did not know if she would be able to save her. 

But there was one other that could actually burn through Nimueh’s mists. 

Morgana smiled, “Oh, we won’t show him anything, but there is another whom I believe will be more than up to the task.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this has been delayed. End of semester is just crazy busy! Things should be more regular for the next few weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains scenes of violence slightly more extreme than in canon. There is a brief scene in which a woman is roughly handled and there are implied threats of rape. There is also a scene in which a woman manipulates a much younger man into having sex. Eventually there will be sex between men which may also involve some manipulation and/or coercion. These scenes are important to the story, but they are not the central point of the story. If you feel these scenes might upset you, please skip reading the story.


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